


to ancient tales we've been lost, to ancient lands we belong

by moonlitpyre



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairytale, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Canon-Typical Violence, Curse Breaking, Eventual Smut, F/M, hidden magical world
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 00:46:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29341524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonlitpyre/pseuds/moonlitpyre
Summary: After being framed with the murder of his uncle, the King Regent, Prince Dimitri embarks on a mission with his fellow mercenaries, only to stumble upon a land he had thought to have vanished.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/My Unit | Byleth
Comments: 4
Kudos: 31
Collections: The Three Houses AU Bang





	to ancient tales we've been lost, to ancient lands we belong

**Author's Note:**

> This is my little piece for the Three Houses AU Bang (@FE3HAUBang), a little idea I had beforehand that I wanted to bring to life. The whole thing came to me as I listened to [Waltz by Yanni](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H4F9NgNbzF8) and I kept picturing Byleth dancing to it. The rest of it was inspired by Celtic legend of Tír Na Nóg, but of course, with a big twist.
> 
> I'd like to thank my friends Crystal and Rach who helped me beta-read this, as well as [Emie](https://twitter.com/emiemie27), my partner in this Big Bang, who drew a [gorgeous artwork](https://twitter.com/emiemie27/status/1359689101012828167?s=20) for this fic!

Rapid gusts of wind flew over Dimitri’s face, the frigid breezes that engulfed his beloved Faerghus slowly making way to welcome spring. Little birds and gazelles moved around the forest, their bright chirping and graceful movements bringing an inexplicable warmth to Dimitri’s chest. It was in spring that he had last seen his father before the gentleman departed, a spring as warm as Dimitri had ever imagined. He had gotten quite accustomed to the cold in Fhirdiad, the snow perpetually covering the streets and trees, but seeing flowers bloom in warmer weathers, and the sun shining in the sky had brought a certain sort of calmness to Dimitri’s young mind.

It had been some time since he had been to the south last, the mind of his uncle Rufus always occupied in the crown's wealth, and the profiting he would make from the lands. They had only been outside of Fhirdiad for a handful of times, visits to the family’s chateau in the beloved Blaiddyd area. They would travel on horseback, and occasionally in the warmth of a carriage once acquired by the King Regent. But never once did they go on tours as his father once had done, never once did they travel through the forests, visit villages or attend festivals to honour the Goddess, and spread blessings across the land. Not until Dimitri was of age, not for a very long time.

Dimitri rode his old horse with two resplendent gentlemen by his side. One of them his kindest friend Dedue who had followed him after his fall, the one who kept by his side for all those years—who shared every coin and every meal with him so Dimitri wouldn’t grow hungry, tired, or lonesome. He was of all friends the most loyal, the kindest and the most sincere. He had been by Dimitri when his father had fallen, had shared stories with him, of lands lost and lands discovered, as two growing children would as a means to grasp for a sliver of belief. 

By his other side stood their leader, a young gentleman of once renowned sagacity and charisma. The young man known as Yuri Leclerc was kind with a heart of gold, yet as fierce as he was selfless—never hesitant when he wielded a sword. He had once been the son of a noble, had grown in social circles as exuberant and dull as Dimitri’s. They had been acquainted, perhaps on one or other occasion, had crossed paths before in their youth, for Dimitri would often travel, and Yuri liked to pursue grand names. But whether they had once called each other by their titles, they were now merely associates; fighters in a land that had forsaken them, seeking justice—and as associates they would now forever remain.

They were headed to the southern lands that covered the country, where perhaps the weather wasn’t as cold as the frigid winds of the north, but were still chilly enough to cause harm to the harvests, and spread drought throughout the lands. It was through the Magdred forests that Dimitri had found Leclerc, where he had walked for miles in search of a drop of water, Dedue tailing by his side. They had travelled through these forests on many an occasion, their group of celebrated mercenaries seeking comfort in the warmth provided by the setting of the sun. 

They would set camp throughout the tall trees, in the heart of the acres, where a river flowed near, and the moon stood tall from the sky every night. It was a rather quaint place, a nearby village accompanying them only a few miles away, where jobs overflowed, and people were as kind as Dimitri remembered. He had grown rather accustomed to the living, to the hours of travelling, and the adventures that would often await them, regardless of the danger they brought. It was a comfortable living, thrilling even—to take from the ones who had taken from him, and share it elsewhere with those who had needed it more.

It was as such every other month, with news of noblemen from throughout Faerghus travelling to the south in search of connections. Many had been the ones to side with  _ that woman _ , many who had betrayed their country, and in exchange offered everything to someone who wouldn’t bat an eyelash for them. 

Viscount Kleiman, a well-known lackey of the newly crowned Queen, had not been deprived of his travels ever since. It was after all his friendship with Count Rowe that often kept the old man close to the south. He had been carrying bags of coins a plenty, gifts personally given to him by Queen Cornelia for his loyalty to her from the beginning. Viscount Kleiman, among other gentlemen from the gentry, had been there to see that King Lambert would never once again return to his castle. He was a man of sharp tongue and an even sharper mind, more so against a young man of only fourteen, who sought to save his father amidst the ambush that would change the kingdom’s lines.

He was a tall man, proud even, with eyes as bright as the sun, and a grimace that would never leave his mouth. He was frightful to be true, the villain of any fairytale Dimitri had come across when he was but a little boy. However, this man had a weakness, the kind that would bring men of bright minds to utmost ruin. It was his love for money that had nearly brought his duchy to disappear in the times of King Lambert—how this man loved to gamble, to spend on women and most gallant outfits. 

It was known by the people of the south how often he would visit the Oghma Mountains, where many rumoured he had built a small chateau for his lover, the mistress that had taken over the Kleiman duchy after the viscountess fell to illness. A chateau, although not uncommon to those of noble birth, was a rather ambitious project to set in the south. It had been a desire of Queen Cornelia—a whim to have her lackeys build castles all across the south and east. She had longed to visit warmer places, the ones that reminded her of Adrestia—the wealthy empire she had once known as her home.

Kleiman’s carriage had halted, a stone Yuri had left in the way. He had been briefly followed by Ashe, who had shot an arrow to the carriage’s way. The commotion that soon followed was rather loud—the kind that would chase Dimitri in headaches that lasted days, the kind that wouldn’t let him sleep at night. His friends had attacked the Kleiman soldiers and blocked out the way for the nobleman.

Dimitri followed a soldier who had briskly flung to the forest. He bore the Kleiman crest proudly on his chest—a horse mounted by a knight who had sworn fealty to the crown. Dimitri had almost laughed at the irony, were it not for the fact that the soldier had noticed him following, and attempted to send a blow across Dimitri’s chest.

They sparred for minutes quietly, the clash of their swords the only noise around. Dimitri had grown rather accustomed to the sword, and the dagger he held tightly against his hip. It had been awarded to him by Yuri, who had not much to offer but the weapons he had taken in the past. 

Dimitri threw a quick jab at the soldier’s jaw, his eyes focused on the blood that had fallen to the ground. The young knight fell down as swiftly as Dimitri had hit him, something cracking alongside the leaves while Dimitri looked around. 

The voices that belonged to his companions could now only be heard faintly—clashes of swords and a calling for Dimitri’s name lost amidst the trees. Dimitri looked around to search for them, to catch a glimpse of their hair, of an arrow—a bristle of magic, all that had been lost to him within the never-ending woods. He hadn’t realised how far away he had drifted in his battle with the soldier, hadn’t realised he now stood near the river he had thought to have left behind.

He made his way towards the river, making certain to study his surroundings before he splashed his face with water. He could faintly hear a melody coming from afar, hear voices that although not familiar, offered him a sense of comfort he couldn’t quite point out. 

He followed the faint melody, his curiosity getting the best of him. He had no memory of a village standing nearby, nor a group of people taking refuge towards this side, but soon enough he was met with tall walls and a temple, and Dimitri couldn’t help but to walk inside.

It was rather ancient, more so than any temple built within the walls of Faerghus. The arches reminded Dimitri of Nabatean architecture, the kind to be found in fairytale books. It was a place of fantasy—a land for the unknown. Dimitri walked inside it quietly, his eyes roaming around the paintings, the statues and the walls. 

The music almost halted, and time had stopped briskly, as Dimitri, in his stupor, found the centre of the temple. There stood a young woman, dress swaying to the rhythm of the melody, her pale green hair a contrast to the statue of the Goddess that hid behind her.

The young woman was beautiful in a way that was rather rare but ethereal. Her green hair floated from side to side as she moved in time with the music, her long eyelashes fluttered closed as the moonlight covered her figure like a gleam of light meant to surround a goddess. She bore a dress as white as the surrounding walls; the fabric hugging her curves tightly. Dimitri stared at her in awe, studying the firm but elegant moves with which she swayed—like those of a warrior, of a master swordsman ready for battle. 

He realised he had known the melody from a time long lost. It was the song of a long forgotten civilisation, a city that was once the centre of the universe, but was known no more. Dimitri had read of it in legends, books of mythical creatures that no longer roamed the Earth. He had been an avid reader for fairytales and folklore of the sort, the kind of stories that would feed a child’s avid imagination, and make their hearts soar. He had loved the wyverns and cherished the elves—he had longed to meet the heroes and grow to become one when he was of age; but such things were meant for children, and these dreams had died the day he had become a man.

Dimitri walked towards the young woman, curious and yet weary of the existence of a creature such as this. Dimitri had seen many things before that were untrue, had spoken to men and women who were there no longer. He had been to places others swore not to be true, chased a golden spirit when he was but a kid. But the young woman seemed as true as the moon that watched them from the sky, and although her beauty and elegance were not quite human, her standing before him dancing was as real as his own beating heart.

He looked away, embarrassed, realising he had been gazing at her for too long without uttering a word. Dimitri, although rather callous in his way to handle battle, was never short of a gentleman—not when his mother would stand behind him, glaring and frigid as the northern winds. Dimitri moved to turn the other way and search for the rest of his group, find them within the acres, still safe and sound after the battle; but as soon as he took a step towards the forest, a leaf cracked beneath his feet, followed by a dagger neatly pressed against his throat.

Breath had left Dimitri’s throat when he opened his eyes to see the proximity with which the young woman held him. She was as beautiful as she had been when she was dancing, her bright green eyes glimmering against the moonlight, their focus set entirely on Dimitri. He looked down at the dagger she held, his eyes unable to meet hers for longer than a second. It was a weapon he had never seen before, a weapon from a time of legend.

“I-I mean no harm,” he stammered to explain. The young woman tilted her head. “My friends and I—we were searching for a man. I’m not entirely sure how I ended up here.”

The young woman looked him up and down, her eyes searching for any sign of threat. She noticed the dagger he carried himself and took it in a swift movement. Before Dimitri could protest, she threw it at a man who had been hiding behind the bushes—a Kleiman guard, the one Dimitri had been chasing beforehand.

She skilfully dodged any attack he threw her way, carefully landed every blow as she shifted from side to side with a prowess Dimitri had never seen before. She was as skilled a fighter as she was a dancer, with carefully mediated movements, and a stealth unimaginable by any other man.

Dimitri watched in awe as the young woman held the Kleiman soldier to the ground, her eyes somber as she swiftly ended his life. Dimitri could hear the screams of a group of people incoming, shouting for names Dimitri couldn’t quite discern—not when his entire focus was on the young woman slowly making her way towards him.

It wasn’t long before the rest of his group found him; the commotion coming from the Kleiman soldier who had followed quickly filling their ears. Dimitri couldn’t tell how long it had been since they had parted, nor how long he had been there at the temple, watching the young woman dance to a melody that somehow, despite all that had followed, hadn’t stopped. 

He walked towards the young woman in haste to thank her for saving him, the beam in his chest longing to speak to her and learn her name. He had only but taken a step towards her when a group of green-haired soldiers stopped him and his friends, their firm hands taking hold of their arms. They were swift as the young woman, skilled enough to trap them within seconds with no one having a moment to fight back. Dimitri tried to bark a complaint, offering a word to tell these people of legend that he or his friends meant no harm to them, but his arms had already been clasped behind his back, and a piece of cloth had been taken to press against his mouth.

All Dimitri could remember before he was blindfolded was the bright eyes of the young woman shouting and begging the soldiers to free him at once.

* * *

The dungeon where Dimitri and his companions had been locked in was rather quaint for a place meant to lock wrongdoers. The stone walls that surrounded it were covered by tree branches, all coming together in interesting shapes and circles. In the upper corner of the cell there were white flowers blooming despite the lack of sunlight. They were a kind of bloom Dimitri had only seen in the books he carried in his childhood—the kind Nabateans would wear in their hair with intricate braids; the ones gifted to the soldiers, to the high gentlemen and ladies that governed their lands. Dimitri was almost tempted to take one for himself, were it not for the fear that they would disappear should he ever cross back into his own lands; every event that had occurred for the past few hours a mere product of his mind.

It hadn’t taken long for Yuri to approach a guard outside their cell to convince him to let them go. He was a clever man with a hefty tongue after all, and in plenty an occasion before had he saved them from being locked in a dungeon as they travelled through the eastern lands of Faerghus to steal jewels from several noble families. But the green-haired guards, although rather interested in the tales the young man offered, weren’t the kind to give away so easily; and so under the cold, stone ceiling, Yuri and his band of mercenaries remained.

“I wonder where we might be,” Constance wondered after a moment. Her blond locks—now longer—swayed as she looked up at the stone ceiling, curious to interpret all the figures the branches formed.

“Do you think these people work for Cornelia?” Hapi had inquired, her eyes gleaming with fear at the prospect of being captured by the Faerghan Queen. 

But Dimitri remained quiet, and so did Yuri as they both levelled up the hints gathered around them, telling more of where they remained than any theory Hapi could throw in their way.

It was Ashe, however, that spoke their thoughts aloud. The young archer in their group who enjoyed stories of folk and legends as much as Dimitri had once done in his youth. There was never a night when he didn’t share a story with the young girls as they cooked their dinner, never a morning when he didn’t mention a figure of legend he had read of in a book.

“Did you see their pointy ears?” he’d asked, his eyes shining with curiosity, his fingers fidgeting with the hem of his tunic. “The young woman who saved Dimitri had them too. And their hair...”

Dimitri remained quiet, the memory of the young woman he had been with early still fresh in his mind. She had been beautiful, he thought, more so than any woman he had met before. She had been skilled with the sword also, better so than Glenn or any Fraldarius he had met before. It was undeniable that the woman wasn’t human, and neither were the guards standing outside. But how had Dimitri entered this land, and how could he explain himself the events that had followed since the evening, without fooling himself?

They waited in silence for the sun to set again in the sky, short glimmers of sunlight peeking from the little window that’d been carved from the stone walls. Everyone had found a seat along the large cell, whispers were shared now and then, but nothing had caught the group’s attention, until the cell door opened, and the young woman Dimitri had seen earlier entered accompanied by a lady much older than herself.

The lady stared at them sternly, her eyes roaming around the room to inspect every intruder that sat on it. She had eyes as bright and green as her companion, her much longer hair flowing in a beautiful and intricate braid. There was a sword hanging from her side, much like the dagger that accompanied the dancer, but more so embellished with jewels Dimitri had never gazed before.

“Why are you here?” the lady had asked, her eyes set on the group’s leader, her hands hovering over the hilt of her sword.

“We are mere merchants, that’s all,” Yuri spoke. “We were on our way to return to our home after travels, we’d gathered enough money to stay at an inn. It was however some bandits who had caught us, and so we took separate paths as we entered the woods—each of us willing to fight this flock of bandits in order to survive. But our friend here stumbled upon a temple, it seems, and there it was that he found a young lass. The rest I’m certain you already know, but we mean no harm to the people from; we only intend to go back to our home and share our earned wealth with the poor from our land.”

The young woman gazed at Yuri with a questioning look before she turned to her elder and nodded in response, her expression almost blank—were it not for the little sparkle in her eyes. Dimitri watched as the lady approached the centre of the room and gazed at each of them one last time before giving a resolute nod. 

“I shall let you leave this land on one condition,” she spoke solemnly. “There is a festival gathered around our city, made to celebrate Lady Cethleann. Had you not interrupted, we would be in a feast with our family. She is quite an avid lover of jousting, and so is my brother, Lord Indech. If one of you is to defeat our champion, Lord Cichol, then I’ll be the one to make certain your return to your land is safe and smooth.”

The room erupted in quiet murmurs as the group of mercenaries took the offer into consideration. There were quiet nods exchanged, buzzes of yes and nos coming from altogether different voices. Dimitri glanced at the ceiling, unable to form any words as he thought of himself and his friends stuck in this dungeon until life left their lungs. How Dedue would never watch the sunset in Duscur again, how Ashe and Hapi would never reunite with their family, how Yuri’s mother would one day stop receiving letters from him—the little wealth he saved for himself never reaching her hands.

Dimitri promptly raised from the floor, his dagger still in hand. “I’m the one who brought everyone here, and I shall defeat the champion. Were it not for my mistake, my friends would be back at home, dining pheasants and potatoes, warm under the blanket of a bed.”

The murmurs that had erupted earlier broke into a series of voices calling to Dimitri’s name—some rather heated, others quite concerned. But the young woman from earlier, she smiled slightly, before she quickly glanced away.

“Then it shall be so,” stated the lady. “Prepare for battle by the morning. You’ll have quite an arduous day ahead.”

The elder lady left the room in such a hurry, no one had argued against her words. The young woman from earlier held Dimitri’s gaze for a long moment, her bright, green eyes sparkling with curiosity, before she followed along. Dimitri wondered then if their paths would cross again by the morning, and if he would ever learn her name; but before he could dwell on it much longer, an arm had slipped beside his torso, and he was lifted away.

* * *

The frigid air of Faerghus had all but left them behind as Dimitri was sent to a small battle ground, Dedue following in tail. There was a certain air of solemnity in his expression—an unwillingness to let Dimitri enter a game he had but little chance of winning. Dimitri, of course, could understand. It had been almost ten years since Dimitri had jousted last. Not since his father had set a foot in Fhirdiad Castle.

Dedue, although much quieter and serious than the rest, offered a warm companionship. He had been with Dimitri long before they had joined this group of mercenaries, had been there when King Lambert fell by the hands of traitors to the nation, and those who believed in the empire's reformation. They had trained together many times before, had taught each other fighting techniques they had seen their own people perform.

“Would you mind if I train against a dummy?” Dimitri wondered briefly, his voice but a whisper. He had hardly found any sleep after they were locked in the cell, his companions ranging from being utterly quiet as they dazed off, to murmuring to one another amid the strange darkness that had suddenly surrounded them.

Dedue gazed at him with a strange look, his eyes following the intricate lance Dimitri had picked up. It had an interesting design, the forgery quite similar to the sword and dagger Dimitri had the pleasure of seeing before. He thought of the dagger he carried in his own pocket, and the one that had been pressed against his throat.

“I wonder who could forge something quite as beautiful as this,” Dimitri stated, the lance in his hand following a swift movement to attack the dummy. The wooden piece barely reacted in response, if only to fall back by the strength with which it was blown.

“Would you like to try another one?” Dedue asked, his brows lifting with amusement as the head of the dummy cracked into pieces. “Perhaps it’s beauty has made it rather fragile.”

“Not at all,” Dimitri responded quietly. He moved to lift up the dummy quietly and walked to fight against another. He looked down at the weapon in hand and admired the surrounding carvings, his mind wandering back to the intricate designs in their cell. “It seems these weapons, although otherworldly and beautiful, are far stronger than they appear.”

Dedue nodded briefly, his own eyes wandering back to the stack of lances and swords awaiting Dimitri’s trial. He walked over to them, curious to see what Dimitri had uttered regarding them, but his eyes travelled back to Dimitri as he slashed another vigorous attack against his opponent.

It had been a while since Dimitri had last held a lance in his hand, five years since he had last seen the family heirloom that was taken away by Cornelia, after losing the King Regent. He had often carried swords, the dagger that had become his most loyal companion. It was what Yuri could afford, what he was deft with, aside from magic. There were a few tricks Dimitri had learned from his leader, skills only a man as clever as Yuri could entrust.

Dimitri continued his training till a drop of sweat fell from his head, the weather in this land of mystery a notable contrast to the one he had been used to his entire life. It was very warm, tropical almost, the arid sun setting far from them, feeding into the lush trees and colourful blooms that surrounded them. Dimitri thought this sort of place only existed towards the east, where Almyra stood proudly and the world beyond it which extended only in Dimitri’s books offered places and customs Dimitri could only but envision.

It was, however, a pair of footsteps that returned Dimitri to reality, to these lands of mystery he was slowly beginning to discover. A young woman of green locks made her way towards him, the eyes that had brought curiosity a day prior, now bringing a sense of uncertainty to Dimitri’s chest. It was that beautiful young maiden, the one who held a dagger at his throat, and smiled when Dimitri had offered to champion his friends on the way home.

There was a certain air to her that interested Dimitri. The casualness with which she moved, perhaps, the little smile that cracked from her lush lips. She was mysterious and yet Dimitri felt as though they knew each other already, and had been friends for long. The even-tempered manner in which she approached everything, seemed to put Dimitri’s mind at ease, and so with a brief movement he left his weapon in the ground, and walked towards her.

“I should apologise for interrupting your training,” she mumbled. Her voice, although rather monotonous, offered a hinge of regret Dimitri thought he would have missed if he hadn’t given her his full attention. “There was something I wanted to give you, before the tournament took place.”

“Give  _ to me _ ?” Dimitri quietly tilted his head. “I don’t understand.”

The young woman nodded before she briefly pulled something out of her pocket. It was a scarf made of silk, and the most beautiful dark grey he had ever seen. Little pink figures had been sewn around it, intricate patterns like the ones he had seen in the weaponry, and the cell he had been to before. She offered it to him in a swift movement before he had given it back and pointed at a lance still hidden in the weapon stack.

“That’s the strongest weapon my father ever forged,” she murmured softly, her eyes gleaming with a sudden sadness—barely noticeable, were it not because Dimitri looked at her too closely. “It might give you a better chance to win, if you take it.”

Dimitri hesitantly nodded. “I—I thank you.”

She took her hands in his for a moment, their fingers interlacing with the scarf she had just given to him. The air left Dimitri’s lungs when she stood on her tiptoes and almost kissed his cheeks. But she drew back, her brows furrowing, and offered him a gentle smile. “Good luck,” she said warmly. “May you and your friends part home in peace.”

When she promptly left the room, Dedue gave him a questioning look—curious, yet guarded. Dimitri shook his head and continued training, the scarf that had been given to him now covering his chest and neck; and the lance the young woman had pointed to, already placed in his hands.

* * *

The crowd that had received him and the green-haired champion was nothing short of loud and cheerful. There were whistles coming from both gentlemen and ladies, cheers and songs coming from all over the crowd. It had been a while since Dimitri had seen something like this last—awhile since he had last set foot in the jousting tournament arena built outside Castle Fhirdiad.

He could still remember the last time he had been to one, how his father had smiled when thirteen-year-old Dimitri mounted his horse proudly, a silver lance held tightly in his hands. He was to fight against a renowned knight, a young man not much older than himself, but certainly older enough to know his way about these games. 

It took a while for Dimitri to defeat him, for the young man was skilled and swift enough to defeat his own elders. But Dimitri was much stronger, and with a swift brush of his lance, his opponent had fallen to the floor—alive, yet slightly injured. Dimitri could only but apologise to the young man for a month.

The crowd that had received him suddenly went quiet, the lady who had offered this bargain slowly sitting in the middle of the crowd, the throne she had sat on far more elegant than the ones that followed the people. Her family sat beside her, a rather young lady with a cheerful expression and a flower crown that adorned her head sat by her left. The young woman who had greeted Dimitri earlier, by her right; and two gentlemen Dimitri hadn’t seen before who promptly followed behind.

They were a regal family, no doubt. Their green locks all following in slightly distinct tones, all fresh greens from the ones Dimitri had been acquainted with. Dimitri realised the young woman had changed her attire to something more elegant, a white dress much similar to the one he had found her in the prior evening, the fabric hugging tightly against her curvy frame. Dimitri forced himself to look away, but the scarf that enveloped his neck suddenly felt a little too warm against his skin.

Dimitri greeted his opponent with a shake of his hand before both gentlemen briefly nodded at each other and went back to their place. Lord Cichol, although rather a solemn man, had appeared to Dimitri as a kind fellow. He had introduced himself by name before the game took place, willing to offer any kind of advice a newcomer could need. He was tall, strong and sturdy, the perfect candidate for a jousting champion. And yet, Lord Cichol, like any jousting champion, had a flaw, one he was certain he knew to hide very well.

A small green flag was dropped before Dimitri and Lord Cichol galloped towards each other in a swift motion—each of their horses ready for battle. The lance Dimitri held in hands felt sturdy, hanging from his right should Lord Cichol come near. He noticed his opponent had attempted to throw a jab at his side, to which Dimitri quickly avoided by moving aside.

They had gone at each other, galloping from one side to the other in several attempts. Their weapons had briefly clashed for a moment, the tip of Lord Cichol’s lance falling to the ground. He attempted to throw a jab at Dimitri once and twice—had kept his eyes focused on his opponent as Dimitri swiftly swayed against Lord Cichol’s. Lord Cichol was a good fighter, of that Dimitri was certain, but it was only after Dimitri had dented his weapon, that he realised Lord Cichol’s left leg fell limply against his horse, making it difficult for him to curve away as quickly as Dimitri did.

They galloped towards each other for another round, the lance Dimitri held at the ready for the attack. He slashed against his opponent once and twice, hoping to tire the man out. And when Lord Cichol tried to escape, Dimitri’s lance blocked out his movement, and with one last slash he destroyed Lord Cichol’s lance completely, the silver shattering to the ground—the jousting Champion Cichol falling to his feet with a loud crash.

The crowd erupted in loud cheers, some interested in having seen their renowned champion finally defeated, others eager to see someone so different, a strange flavor to their crowd. Dimitri looked up at his friends from the ground, all staring at him, eager to share his victory. But it was a pair of eyes that had caught away his attention—the warm, kind eyes that had given him good luck only a few hours before, the ones that’d held him in place when he trained, and had enveloped his hands.

* * *

The feast that followed Dimitri’s victory had been grand and almost magical. Dimitri and his friends had been taken to a palace, its walls and paintings reminding Dimitri of another era—one long forgotten by humanity, but forever remembered by the pages of books. 

There were people all around, dancing to melodies not too different from the one he had heard before—songs of past stories, of dragons that had disappeared to history. There was a hinge of nostalgia emanating from Dimitri’s chest, a blooming curiosity for the world he had entered, the fear of losing it all slowly melting from his chest. 

He watched with a grin as his friends soon approached the elegant meals that were cooked in their honour, how their eyes would widen upon seeing all the colours that decorated the room. There was a brief instance in which Dimitri was certain his friend Dedue would ask Ashe to dance, had almost made his way towards the younger man—before he quickly turned away to chat with the Nabatean cook. Ashe in his place had moved over to a pair of young women who held a book in hands, the curious eyes of Constance chasing him around.

Dimitri stood in place in the corner watching everyone be jolly, a plate of fresh salmon in his hand. He had been congratulated for hours by his companions and Nabateans alike, all curious to meet their new champion—the man of the night. Dimitri hadn’t been used to that kind of attention, not for a really long time; and so with an apologetic smile he withdrew from all crowds, and hid between the stone walls, before anyone could offer him a hand to dance.

A young woman he had seen before then approached him, all on her own. It was the young lady he had seen earlier, with a flower crown adorning her hair, and her green locks laying curled by her sides in intricate braids. It was Lady Cethleann, the kind young lady who was the center of the festivities. She smiled at Dimitri with a fervour he had never received before, the glint in her eyes as youthful as her round face. She offered a bouquet to Dimitri, the bright lavender colour surprising him and widening his eyes.

“From a secret admirer,” the young girl nodded before she giggled. “These are lavender, perfectly cultivated from our gardens. My friend thought you might like them.”

Dimitri stared at the flowers in awe, his eyes glinting with curiosity as he held them in his hands. He turned to thank the young lady for her friend’s gift, but the young woman had already run away, a toll of giggles following her.

Dimitri walked over towards a table, his eyes shifting to the crowd dancing now and then. He left his plate over the surface as he turned to admire the flowers, their scent both familiar and new to him. He closed his eyes as he took in everything that surrounded him, then promptly opened them as he realised someone had approached him.

The young woman from earlier had a couple of drinks in her hand and a smile to rival the very sunset. She was wearing the white dress she had worn earlier, the golden trinkets that adorned her neck and hips glinting against the palace’s lights. Dimitri had grown used to being surrounded by such beauty, but something about her did not cease to take him aback.

She handed over one of the drinks she carried, her lips moving hesitantly as she attempted to speak. “I—I’m glad that you won,” she murmured. “I dearly love my uncle, but I hoped you and your friends would safely return home.”

Dimitri took the drink she had offered to him in a swift movement and smiled shyly. “I used to do this back at home, when I was very young. I didn’t think I would win—your uncle is a good competitor, and I hadn’t done something like this in ten years.”

The young woman stared at him curiously, head tilting to the side, prompting him to continue speaking. Dimitri took a sip of his drink and coughed slightly, not yet used to the ale his friends would often consume, let alone the kind that was otherworldly. When the young woman motioned to place a hand on his back, Dimitri’s cheeks flared warm.

“Forgive me,” he murmured, his eyes looking everywhere but hers. “I don’t believe I know your name.”

“Byleth,” she responded quickly, a small smile creeping from her lips. Her hands moved away from his back to hold her drink with both hands. “And what of yours?”

“You may call me Mitya,” he answered, his eyes roaming towards the room in search of his friends. “As do my companions.”

The young woman nodded, her eyes glinting. She took a long gulp of her drink before she turned to him again. “Well, Mitya, I hope you’ve enjoyed our celebration. We haven’t had a human visit our lands in many years, let alone a champion. I hope this feast has proven to be of your liking.”

Dimitri nodded, his eyes widening with surprise. “It has. More so than I deserve. It’s nothing like what we have back at home, I assure you.”

The young woman—Byleth tilted her head again with curiosity, her eyes sparkling at the mention of his home. She seemed to mediate what to offer next, when her hand slowly hovered over his. They gazed at each other briefly before she withdrew. 

“I hope you keep the scarf I made for you, I worked on it overnight. Perhaps you might not return here after tonight, but I hope you will remember us, as my father once did.”

Dimitri gazed at her confused, his eyes shifting from the scarf he still bore over his shoulders, to the hand that had briefly touched his. It was small and delicate, yet Dimitri had known not to be deceived by his eyes. Byleth had been quick to attack him, not to mention rid him of the Kleiman soldier who had followed him. Dimitri wondered briefly who had taught this young lady to fight, how had she become so sturdy, so stealthy—more so than any knight Dimitri had ever met.

“I shall keep it with me forever, believe me,” Dimitri told her quietly, his mind eager to speak to her more. The young woman’s eyes widened before she smiled and let out a little laugh. “Don’t mock me,” Dimitri murmured, his own smile widening. “I mean it. I didn’t—I didn’t think something like this could ever happen.”

The young woman shook her head, her smile never leaving its place. “I am merely surprised, as I’ve never made a scarf before. My mother thought me mad for barely sleeping last night, but I didn’t want to offer something half done.”

“It’s beautiful,” Dimitri murmured. “I haven’t had one of these in a long while, and I appreciate the gift.”

The young woman nodded, her eyes roaming around the room as another green-haired gentleman approached them. He didn’t seem familiar to neither him nor Byleth, but Dimitri was certain to nod in greeting as the man offered his hand for Dimitri to shake. He was tall, however not as tall as Dimitri, and yet something about the man reminded Dimitri of his father, how proudly he stood against the snow every morning, how tall he looked inside the castle walls—how much Dimitri wanted to be like him.

“Will you be our godly champion this year, young man?” the man inquired. “The crowd has been awaiting your answer.”

“Godly champion?” Dimitri asked confused, his eyes meeting Byleth’s searching for answers. She looked away to the centre of the crowd where the lady he had learned to be Lady Seiros (patron of the city of Andraste) stood proudly amidst the crowd. 

She smiled gently as she welcomed the crowd and asked after their merriment amidst the feast. Many had stopped dancing in order to offer her their full attention, the musicians that had been playing every melody following shortly. Dimitri had learned from his brief stay how many respected and venerated the lady, some of them looking up to her as one would a saint. Dimitri shifted his attention to her, to the words she had uttered to the people who awaited for her. She smiled kindly, and yet she was stern. A solemn presence, regardless of the warmth expressed in her eyes. Had Dimitri not known any better, he would have muttered the word cold to himself—the very word he had once used to describe his own sister, the woman who had helped take over his lands.

“It has been quite some time since a man has set foot in our lands, and even longer since Nabateans and humans lived together in harmony,” she stated gravely. “We fought our battles, remained separated for many years, but that all ends today, as we welcome our new champion to the land of Nabatea.”

The crowd erupted in cheers, some even louder than the ones he had heard in the morning when the jousting tournament had begun. Yuri, who was standing at the corner of the room, looked at him with concern before he briskly looked the other way, the drink in his hand held tightly—tighter than the hilt of his sword. When Dimitri walked over towards the centre, a warm hand enveloped his, and he was forced to look away. 

“It is rare that the Goddess herself chooses her new champions, as she would rather allow us to pick them ourselves, but this year she appeared to me and my brother Macuil in a dream, and so it is with utmost joy that I tell you that our two worlds shall unite again, in this strange, but interesting year.”

The crowd that had erupted in cheers turned back to their dancing, their merriment almost contagious, were it not for the confusion and concern that had bloomed in Dimitri’s chest. He turned to look at his friends and noticed the shock in Yuri’s face. Dimitri tried to walk towards them, reassure they would be on their way home again by the morning; but the hand that held him pressed tightly, and another figure moved him through the crowd—near that Lady Seiros, the woman who had taken his fate in her hands.

“Welcome then our champion, who shall seek to find the Goddess and listen to her wisdom. And my granddaughter, who shall accompany him as our people’s champion, offering that which humanity cannot offer—her kind and Elven heart.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading, this fic will be updated with the second part before the end of the month!


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